Tomorrow
by Glistening Sun
Summary: 'Cold. She is feeling cold and empty. Her heart is empty, devoid of emotions, a black void.' My take on the White Lies story arc.
1. Tomorrow

**Tomorrow**

 **An add-on to White Lies**

 **By Glistening Sun**

Cold. She is feeling cold and empty. Her mind functioning, her body functioning, only her voice betraying something that is hidden so deeply inside of her she can't connect to it.

Empty. Her heart is empty, devoid of emotions, a black void.

A hand on her shoulder, familiar fingers squeezing her through the material of her jacket that feels like protective layer against the warmth they're usually offering. A look so sad and yet so understanding. She is hurting him. A part of her knows that but she is suspended in this state of cold and emptiness. She cannot rouse herself from detachment. She sees his eyebrows lift, the hopeful expression on his face only too quickly replaced by one of forced cheer hiding the pain.

"Sharon."

She shakes her head, surprised at the movement and lifts her hand in a pleading gesture. Not now.

Cold and empty, all she wants is to be alone and be numb, not feel anything. She took a life and it's left her lifeless. She scrubs the day off her face, brushes her hair out and pulls it together into a loose braid.

"Sharon," Andy says when she comes back into the bedroom, his voice raw with pain. She can see how badly he wants to reach out to her and touch her, how hard he's trying to control his desire to pull her into his arms and hold her close, but she only shakes her head.

She bids him goodnight and feigning tiredness turns onto her side, her back to him. She can't fall asleep and Andy doesn't seem to fare any better. She can tell he is in pain, physical pain as he turns and fights hard to muffle his groans. It must be his neck bothering him again. It has been for a few days. She wants to say something, words of comfort, offer him a massage, but her own despair is too great, the void too black, her body too cold.

"Sharon," he whispers again and she stiffens. Not now. She can't talk. So she just shakes her head and hears Andy's resigned sigh. Anger wells up in her at the noises he makes. Why does he sound as though his heart is breaking, the pain raw and real? She knows she is hurting him, but her own hurt it too great to reach out. Only inches separate them yet they appear like an ocean.

She thinks she hears him once or twice more during the night, she remembers shrugging off his hand when he places it on her shoulder chastising herself immediately. Why can't she give him this? Why can't she give _them_ this? Tomorrow, she promises herself, tomorrow when she's rested she'll take the comfort he is offering. Tomorrow she'll let him hold her, tomorrow she'll let him warm her up.

Tomorrow comes quickly and she wakes up still feeling cold. It's a profound cold that has only spread further during the night. But she knows that Andy is there, maybe still asleep, but he won't mind her waking him. She'll turn over into his arms, she'll warm up in his embrace, her face buried into his neck.

"Andy?" she asks quietly, but doesn't get a response.

She tries again, louder this time: "Andy?" He's a light sleeper and he has yet to sleep through her voice. She can tell from the matress that he is still in bed with her. It's quiet. Eerily quiet. She doesn't even hear him breathe.

"Andy!" she shouts now and turns around.

Brown eyes meet hers, still and unmoving.

"Andy!" her voice breaks in panic.

His skin is cold to her touch, his body still.

Her tomorrow is gone.


	2. Do Not Sin

**Tomorrow, Chapter 2  
**

 **an add-on to White Lies**

 **By Glistening Sun**

She is not a coroner, but she is familiar with death. She remembers the death of her father five years ago just before she took over Major Crimes. She remembers the pallor of his skin, the marble-like feel of his hands when she took them in hers. There is no mistaking the signs. Andy is dead. Her boisterous, stubborn, loving Lieutenant is dead. The man she has come to love more than she ever thought possible is lying across from her, warmth replaced by cold.

She looks at him, the open eyes that no longer see and still are focussed on her. She is the last thing he ever saw in this life: not her face, not her love, but her turned back, her cold shoulder.

His hand is lying motionless on the sheets, the blue veins more visible now. She could trace every one of them with her eyes closed. Her mind understands long before the same understanding dawns on her heart: his hand is lying in the same place it dropped when she shrugged it off during the night. A shiver runs down her spine when she realises that he must have reached for her in his dying moments. And she turned him away; too selfish, too absorbed in her own worries to notice his ultimate struggle.

'Lord, how can I ever find forgiveness,' a small voice in her head asks.

Andy doesn't respond. He is still now, resting quietly. His eyes are open, but they no longer see. She wonders what he must have felt during the last minutes and seconds. Did he know he was dying? Was he angry with her? Did he want to ask her for help?

Of course he did! Why else would he have reached out for her? She shrugged off the hand of a dying man, a man who loved her so dearly – and she turned him away in his final hour of need. She left him to face death alone.

The thoughts flitter through her mind, first one, then another. There are so many that they overwhelm her. Every single one is like the slap of a whip, like the grasp of an icy hand around hers.

'How can I ever live with that guilt? What am I going to do? I should call the doctor. I should call Nicole. I should call Fr. Angelo. I left Andy alone in his dying moment. How can I ever live with that knowledge? How can I ever live without him?' The thoughts keep swirling through her head and it takes her long moment to realise the pained sound she hears is her own voice.

Those warm brown eyes remained fixed on her, never blinking, never looking away and another hoarse cry of pain fills the room. Disoriented she grasps for the phone on her bedside table. The lamp falls onto the carpet with a soft sound. She flees the bed, desperate the get away from the site of her sin, of her selfishness and barely manages to stand up before her whole words caves in. Reaching for Andy to steady herself has become second nature but when she feels his cold hand another scream breaks from her body and her world goes black.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

It's the regular sound of a clock that pulls her back into a reality she doesn't know how to face. She let Andy die alone. Right next to her and as alone as if she had been miles away. She let him die knowing her distance was hurting him. God, how could she have been so self-absorbed? How could she not have known he was fighting for his life?

By the time she has gathered herself enough to sit up the sun has risen and is illuminating Andy's figure on the bed. The memory of last weekend when they were lying there, in that very same spot, basking in the sun and making plans, hits her unprepared.

"Oh Lord, what shall I do?" her voice echoes back in the quiet room and the words of her childhood come back to her 'Be angry but do not sin; do not let the sun go down on your anger.'

Andy won't come back and she'll never have to chance to ask his forgiveness. And the weight of that sin is already crushing her heart.


	3. Seeking Peace

She can go to confession. She can say her Hail Marys and do her penance and God will forgive her. It's what she has always liked about her Catholic faith. It provides guidance for a flawed mankind, is benevolent in its rites and rituals. The sacrament of confession is one of healing. You earnestly confess your sins and do your penance and you can continue with a lightened conscience.

But Andy … she won't ever be able to tell him why she was so distant. She will never be able to ask for his forgiveness. She won't ever see his smile or hear his laugh again, never again feel the warmth of his embrace. She won't ever hear Andy's voice pronounce the forgiveness she so craves. And that guilt is something she will have to live with for the rest of her life.

Time has lost all importance for her. Her lips are moving in a silent prayer while her hands fiddle restlessly with the hem of her shirt. She wishes she had something to occupy them. That is when she remembers Andy's rosary, the one his grandmother gave him. She rises easily this time and makes her way around the bed to Andy's side, sits down on the mattress and ignores the way his body moves. It's almost like any other morning with him having a lie-in, except it isn't. She looks away not wanting to succumb to the illusion.

There it is, the rosary, half hidden underneath the well-worn hymnal that was also his grandmother's. She should really pass this on to Nicole. Her fingers glide over the old leather as she gently lifts the book and a piece of paper slips out, spirals downward before landing at her feet. Two words in a hand she would recognise anywhere.

 _To Sharon_

She unfolds the paper smooting it out as she blinks to clear her sight. But the tears keep coming obscuring her view until she roughly wipes them away with both hands.

The letter is dated only a few days ago.

 _Sweetheart,_

 _I pray that you will never have to read this letter. Or that if you do, it'll be after a long and full life we've shared. It'll be after a last kiss, a last hug, a last I love you. It'll be after a proper goodbye._

 _But I know life doesn't always go the way we want it to go. Our jobs are dangerous, mine more than yours as you so often remind me. I used to disagree with you, but you are, of course, right. I am not a healthy man, Sharon. My body has taken its share of abuses, through years of drinking and that high stress job. I don't regret the job. How else would I have met you? How else would I have had enough time to wait for you – and yet be around you constantly? That job is what brought us together, and that is something I can never regret. But I do regret the drinking. I regret the damage it did to my family, my children, my marriage – and the pain it brought you._

 _I can feel my body slowly giving up on me and it's scaring the hell out of me, Sharon. Healthy eating, exercising, all that is no longer having the same effects. It didn't start with my little dust-up with the car (yes, you're smiling now because you'll remember trying to hug me in your office when my ribs were cracked), but that stupid blood clot certainly brought it home. Mortality and all that stuff. I want to be invincible. I want to be there with you and enjoy many, many more years. And the thought that that might not happen …_

 _Sharon, I love you so very much. I need you to know that._

 _The truth is, I went to the doc a few weeks ago and he said I should consider retirement to reduce the stress on my heart. But how can I while Stroh is still out there? I made a promise to myself back when he escaped, when I saw you standing in the murder room and our hands touched for a second when I squeezed your shoulder._

 _You're smiling again, aren't you? You'll remember the conversation we had at our six month anniversary at Serve when you said you wished we'd already made that important step in our relationship back then because you would have been able to share your worries with me. I do wish that too, by the way, I wish that we had made this step years ago, but I don't regret waiting for you. Every minute of waiting, every stolen look and secret smile, it was all worth it. You are worth it._

 _So I promised you and me both that I would not rest until I had hunted Stroh down and put his sorry ass back in prison (well, or worse, but I know you don't like me talking like that). And I made the decision that once we had him back, I would retire and I would ask you to come with me._

 _I hope that when you read this we'll have retired, and we'll have spent many years together, seen your children get married, and our grandchildren born and grow up. I can't wait to see you cry at Emily's wedding. And maybe, if I'm really lucky, I'll have seen you cry at our wedding, too. Because you would cry, wouldn't you? And you would try to hide it, but I would still notice._

The letter ends there, abruptly, in the middle of the page. She swallows hard before she turns around to look at Andy and, to her own surprise, smiles.

"You're right, I would have cried, and I would have said yes if you'd asked me."

There is no response. He really looks as though he is just sleeping. And who knows, maybe he is? Maybe he is.

"Andy," she whispers and reaches for his shoulder, giving him a gentle shake, "wake up, my darling."


	4. Finding Forgiveness

Sharon gets up hastily when Andy doesn't wake up. No use waking him before he's ready, she tells herself. They've had a diffcult few days and he must still be exhausted. He deserves his rest. She will brew that coffee and when she comes back, they will enjoy it together and plan their day. Maybe they can go to the beach or spend the afternoon with Nicole's family, ask Rusty to join them, and maybe Gus, too.

The sound of the closing bedroom door jolts her back to reality. Andy won't wake up. They'll never share the simple joys of life again. They'll never again look at each other over a cup of coffee, they won't see their grandchildren grow up.

"Andy, no!"

She falls back against the door and slumps into a heap on the floor, trying hard to breathe through the mounting panic. The man on the other side of that door is dead. It's her secret for now. She can't bear the thought of calling Nicole, or Louie, or a doctor. They will come and take Andy away from her. They will need her support and strength when she doesn't even know how to get up from the floor again.

She looks at the paper still in her hand and it is as though Andy is speaking to her. If she concentrates she can even smell of whiff of his aftershave, the way he smells when he pulls her into his arms after a long day at work.

"It's not fair! You get to tell me how much you love me, but I never got to tell you. I never got to say goodbye." She sounds like a petulant little child. The worst is that she knows it.

She is only raging against her own shortfalls, her own selfishness. If only she had turned around last night when he touched her. She might not have been able to save his life, but at the very least he would have died knowing she loved him. He would have died in her arms, comforted in his last moments rather than being forced to look at the back of the woman who claimed to love him. What a horrible way to go. And to think of the years he spent wooing and waiting only for her to turn away from him in his hour of need.

"Forgive me," she whispers and then repeats her words with more strength until they fill the space of the corridor. "Forgive me, Andy. Forgive me for shutting you out. Forgive me for letting you die alone." Nothing but quietness answers her.

"Andy, can you hear me? I love you."

In the following silence she pulls herself up, swaying until she has regained her balance. Her steps are slow and measured. So this is what it feels like to be widowed. It feels dark and so empty. Yesterday's troubles fade away in comparison with the sorrow in her heart now, the remorse, the knowledge that she'll never be able to make this right. She pulls her robe closed against the chill of the room. She shouldn't be feeling this cold. Andy should be here with her. On a normal day he would be and he would hold her in his warm embrace and make fun of her cold feet.

"I miss you," she states to the empty room. Her eyes land on a small golden box sitting on top of the breakfast bar that wasn't there last night. Has Rusty come back? But judging by the sun outside it's well past midday and she would have heard him. Or would she?

Her heart misses a beat when she sees the handwriting on the envelope next to the box.

Is this really another message from him? The letter already feels like a last goodbye, something for her to remember him by, but more? And why would Andy have left her a letter? Did he know he was dying? For a moment she can't see and can't think as another wave of guilt washes over her. Did he have to resort to leaving her a message because she wouldn't talk to him?

She would recognise that small golden box anywhere, her favourite Belgian truffles, her pick-me-up on hard days. The knowledge that Andy must have driven across town to get them for her is bittersweet – like the chocolates themselves.

She turns the envelope around a few times before she opens it. He drew a little heart on the card inside and that alone is enough to make her sob. Oh Andy! How can he be so very thoughtful when she is so utterly selfish?

 _Good morning my love,_

 _I know you tend to get up early when you're upset and I know that you're upset about Dwight's death. (Notice how I didn't call him scumbag?)_

 _Here's a little something to help you start your day. Come and find me, sweetheart. You have permission to wake me up, even if it's only 5 am. I wish I could find the right words to help you deal with this. I know this kinda feels like a rough patch for the both of us, too, but we will get through this together. I love you, Sharon, even if you need your distance to figure things out. I promise you I'll never give up on us._

 _And now eat your fancy chocolate and come kiss me so I can have my taste, too! I can't wait to hold you in my arms again._

 _Always yours, Andy._


	5. Solace

Their bedroom is bathed in sunlight and Andy is still lying in the same place she left him in. She takes a good look at him and her heart jumps at the knowledge of just how well he knew her. He left her one last love letter, one last last goodbye, and in all that he gave her forgiveness before he even knew she needed it.

 _I love you, Sharon, even if you need your distance to figure things out. I promise you I'll never give up on us._

He has given her absolution for her self-centredness and the way she retreats into herself. With his last words he has given her key to living on without drowning herself in guilt. She loves him so dearly and for that last gift of forgiveness she may even love him more.

She will miss him, she is already missing him so badly. Her heart is breaking at the thought of spending her life without him. She has lost so much. She has lost something she'll never be able to recover: the pure and unselfish love of a truly kind soul that perfectly matched hers.

Sharon takes a deep breath. She knows what to do now. Her heart fills with warmth and assurance that this is what Andy would want, that he would want a proper goodbye and a few hours spent alone with his love. She will take that time to say goodbye, the time to be alone with him before letting go of him forever. Time just for the two of them before she'll let everyone else know of the loss the world has suffered overnight.

Because she isn't the only one who will miss him. She is the one who will lie awake at night tossing and turning, desperate for his warmth and company. She is the one who will wonder how she ever managed to live without him and how she can do it again. But there are others who will miss him too, who have lost a part of their life today. His children and grandchildren first. His best friend, who will be lost without his buddy and sparring partner. Their team. They will look at the empty desk, they will miss his sarcastic remarks and laughter. And Rusty, her son Rusty who Andy has started calling _our_ son when they are alone, will never know just a wonderful a father Andy would have been. And she, she will miss the man who made her whole in a way she never knew she could be.

"Goodbye, my love. Goodbye, Andy."

She picks up his hand, the one she so carelessly discarded last night, and covers it with her smaller one. His finger joints are already stiff, but she gently coaxes them into a fist, then stretches the digits out again one by one. She would recognise this hand anywhere, the lines of the veins running across are as unique as a fingerprint and the small marks and scars a lifetime have left tell her a story.

Some of her warmth has transferred onto his hand as she lifts it to her lips for a kiss. His familiar smell assaults her senses: the hand cream he uses every night without fail, traces of the hair growth serum he rubs into his scalp every night with equal predictability.

"Oh Andy, how can you be gone? How can you leave me alone already? You promised me years and we got so very little."

It is as though his hand moves a little, the typical tiny caress he has picked up from her because she can never just hold his hand, she always has to caress him and actively touch him. She always has to be in movement. Andy is perfectly content with being still, with holding her. Maybe that's why he was able to bear waiting for a her, because he, who used to be one of the most impatient, impulsive officers on the force had grown into a patient man in his old age.

It doesn't stop her wishing she had made him wait less long, it doesn't stop her wishing she had taken the leap earlier, it doesn't stop her wishing she had turned around last night when he touched her.

Sharon takes a deep breath and rolls towards Andy. She cuddles herself into his embrace and pulls his arm around her. She will take a nap, she tells herself, one last nap with Andy and when she wakes up, she will say one last goodbye and make the necessary calls. But before they come and take him away she will give them this last moment together.

She closes her eyes and her thoughts begin to drift, but sleep evades her. What comes now are the memories and soon she notices that she is talking out loud, laughing and squeezing his hand, lifting it to her lips again. Then she turns around to look at him once more and caresses his face as she talks about them and their life and how much she loves him. She takes the truffle out of its box and pops it in her mouth, relishing the sweetness. His brown eyes look at her intently and she leans in for what she knows will be their very last kiss.

It tastes like love.

* * *

Author's Note: I wanted to express my thanks to all of you who read and commented on this story.

I know some of you hoped for a happy end or a different kind of happy end. This story was never going to be a dream that Sharon could wake up from, but an exploration into a how she might deal with the immediate aftermath of Andy's death. The latter chapters of this story are inspired by _Diane Broeckhoven's novella '_ _A Day with Mr. Jules',_ but I decided to stick with Sharon and Andy's happier backstory! _  
_


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